dale

The nose is a the receptacle for many objects stuffed in there by little squirts — mostly little boys who have no “couth” whatsoever. Their goal in life is to embarrass, mystify and generally gross out parents and all bystanders. The more the merrier. It’s their job and they take it seriously.

One of my sons was always driving me crazy putting things in body cavities (above the waist, keep focused here). This caused untold trouble and almost always involved a lot of yelling. Once, he put a pea up his nose and to round things off, poked a BB in his ear all at the same time. Way far.

Granted, he was only five years old and experimenting with everything. Usually, though, everything went in his mouth. When he couldn’t retrieve the objects in his nose and ear, the yelling began. Heart-rending “Am I gonna die” screaming-memmies. Any scrape or scratch brought on, “Am I gonna die?” in a high octave squeal. This always put his brother on the ground whooping and laughing as only a mischievous brother will do.

Of course, I had to pack up the little rug rat and take him to his pediatrician to suck out the offending objects. Scared him straight for a while.

My mother informed me at the time that this incident is what’s affectionately called by grandparents “payback time.”

Guess my brood got their weird escapades from mommy dearest. When I was a bitty girl way before school, I swallowed a quarter. I had been a good girl and pulled a tooth all by myself. The quarter was the tooth fairy’s reward. So I did what all kids are prone to do. I put it in my mouth. Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time. But then, I stumbled and down the hatch it went.

Now remember, this was many light years ago. It didn’t go all the way down — it ended up standing on end in my windpipe.

We lived in Tupelo and the Tupelo Hospital had no instruments long enough at that time to reach the quarter so I was shipped off to the Memphis hospital and put to sleep for the extraction. Told you it was a long time ago. Medicine was not nearly so evolved in the dark ages. This little party lasted three days from the onset. Had I known how close I came to dying from asphyxiation if that quarter had flipped over, I would have done some yelling myself. Talk about a sore throat.

I was an only child and Mother and Dad were frantic. Well, they would have probably been just as frantic if I had not been an only child, but that seemed to heighten the drama for the “little queen.”

My propensity for getting into godawful situations followed me around like a sick puppy. I got my head stuck between the banisters on the grandparent’s front porch one fine spring day while the parents were at work. Why would anyone in their right mind squeeze and force their head into any opening too small? I just answered my own question.

I had to stay there until my granddad got home from town (about an hour). Grandmother was watching me but she couldn’t get me out without repositioning some head bones. It is always a lot easier to get into a mess than it is to get out — lesson learned. So she sat and held my hand and read to me until Granddaddy got home and sawed me free with a hand saw.

My older cousins from across the road got home from school just in time to see my release. They heckled me relentlessly. Told me what a goof I was and that I had mush for brains. It really did feel like I had mush for brains after I skinned my ears while throwing a hissy fit trying to wrest myself free on my own.

My nickname for many years after that was “Puddin.” Short for Puddinhead as in puddin’ for brains.

My sons DO NOT know of these and many more incidents in my sorted past. To this day they think I’m a sweet, unassuming, mild-mannered super mama-granny who was the pinnacle of Southern grace as a child.

Shut-Up!, they’re gullible, what they don’t know can’t hurt me.

The nose is a the receptacle for many objects stuffed in there by little squirts — mostly little boys who have no “couth” whatsoever. Their goal in life is to embarrass, mystify and generally gross out parents and all bystanders. The more the merrier. It’s their job and they take it seriously.

One of my sons was always driving me crazy putting things in body cavities (above the waist, keep focused here). This caused untold trouble and almost always involved a lot of yelling. Once, he put a pea up his nose and to round things off, poked a BB in his ear all at the same time. Way far.

Granted, he was only five years old and experimenting with everything. Usually, though, everything went in his mouth. When he couldn’t retrieve the objects in his nose and ear, the yelling began. Heart-rending “Am I gonna die” screaming-memmies. Any scrape or scratch brought on, “Am I gonna die?” in a high octave squeal. This always put his brother on the ground whooping and laughing as only a mischievous brother will do.

Of course, I had to pack up the little rug rat and take him to his pediatrician to suck out the offending objects. Scared him straight for a while.

My mother informed me at the time that this incident is what’s affectionately called by grandparents “payback time.”

Guess my brood got their weird escapades from mommy dearest. When I was a bitty girl way before school, I swallowed a quarter. I had been a good girl and pulled a tooth all by myself. The quarter was the tooth fairy’s reward. So I did what all kids are prone to do. I put it in my mouth. Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time. But then, I stumbled and down the hatch it went.

Now remember, this was many light years ago. It didn’t go all the way down — it ended up standing on end in my windpipe.

We lived in Tupelo and the Tupelo Hospital had no instruments long enough at that time to reach the quarter so I was shipped off to the Memphis hospital and put to sleep for the extraction. Told you it was a long time ago. Medicine was not nearly so evolved in the dark ages. This little party lasted three days from the onset. Had I known how close I came to dying from asphyxiation if that quarter had flipped over, I would have done some yelling myself. Talk about a sore throat.

I was an only child and Mother and Dad were frantic. Well, they would have probably been just as frantic if I had not been an only child, but that seemed to heighten the drama for the “little queen.”

My propensity for getting into godawful situations followed me around like a sick puppy. I got my head stuck between the banisters on the grandparent’s front porch one fine spring day while the parents were at work. Why would anyone in their right mind squeeze and force their head into any opening too small? I just answered my own question.

I had to stay there until my granddad got home from town (about an hour). Grandmother was watching me but she couldn’t get me out without repositioning some head bones. It is always a lot easier to get into a mess than it is to get out — lesson learned. So she sat and held my hand and read to me until Granddaddy got home and sawed me free with a hand saw.

My older cousins from across the road got home from school just in time to see my release. They heckled me relentlessly. Told me what a goof I was and that I had mush for brains. It really did feel like I had mush for brains after I skinned my ears while throwing a hissy fit trying to wrest myself free on my own.

My nickname for many years after that was “Puddin.” Short for Puddinhead as in puddin’ for brains.

My sons DO NOT know of these and many more incidents in my sorted past. To this day they think I’m a sweet, unassuming, mild-mannered super mama-granny who was the pinnacle of Southern grace as a child.

Shut-Up!, they’re gullible, what they don’t know can’t hurt me.

The nose is a the receptacle for many objects stuffed in there by little squirts — mostly little boys who have no “couth” whatsoever. Their goal in life is to embarrass, mystify and generally gross out parents and all bystanders. The more the merrier. It’s their job and they take it seriously.

One of my sons was always driving me crazy putting things in body cavities (above the waist, keep focused here). This caused untold trouble and almost always involved a lot of yelling. Once, he put a pea up his nose and to round things off, poked a BB in his ear all at the same time. Way far.

Granted, he was only five years old and experimenting with everything. Usually, though, everything went in his mouth. When he couldn’t retrieve the objects in his nose and ear, the yelling began. Heart-rending “Am I gonna die” screaming-memmies. Any scrape or scratch brought on, “Am I gonna die?” in a high octave squeal. This always put his brother on the ground whooping and laughing as only a mischievous brother will do.

Of course, I had to pack up the little rug rat and take him to his pediatrician to suck out the offending objects. Scared him straight for a while.

My mother informed me at the time that this incident is what’s affectionately called by grandparents “payback time.”

Guess my brood got their weird escapades from mommy dearest. When I was a bitty girl way before school, I swallowed a quarter. I had been a good girl and pulled a tooth all by myself. The quarter was the tooth fairy’s reward. So I did what all kids are prone to do. I put it in my mouth. Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time. But then, I stumbled and down the hatch it went.

Now remember, this was many light years ago. It didn’t go all the way down — it ended up standing on end in my windpipe.

We lived in Tupelo and the Tupelo Hospital had no instruments long enough at that time to reach the quarter so I was shipped off to the Memphis hospital and put to sleep for the extraction. Told you it was a long time ago. Medicine was not nearly so evolved in the dark ages. This little party lasted three days from the onset. Had I known how close I came to dying from asphyxiation if that quarter had flipped over, I would have done some yelling myself. Talk about a sore throat.

I was an only child and Mother and Dad were frantic. Well, they would have probably been just as frantic if I had not been an only child, but that seemed to heighten the drama for the “little queen.”

My propensity for getting into godawful situations followed me around like a sick puppy. I got my head stuck between the banisters on the grandparent’s front porch one fine spring day while the parents were at work. Why would anyone in their right mind squeeze and force their head into any opening too small? I just answered my own question.

I had to stay there until my granddad got home from town (about an hour). Grandmother was watching me but she couldn’t get me out without repositioning some head bones. It is always a lot easier to get into a mess than it is to get out — lesson learned. So she sat and held my hand and read to me until Granddaddy got home and sawed me free with a hand saw.

My older cousins from across the road got home from school just in time to see my release. They heckled me relentlessly. Told me what a goof I was and that I had mush for brains. It really did feel like I had mush for brains after I skinned my ears while throwing a hissy fit trying to wrest myself free on my own.

My nickname for many years after that was “Puddin.” Short for Puddinhead as in puddin’ for brains.

My sons DO NOT know of these and many more incidents in my sorted past. To this day they think I’m a sweet, unassuming, mild-mannered super mama-granny who was the pinnacle of Southern grace as a child.

Shut-Up!, they’re gullible, what they don’t know can’t hurt me.

DALE  LILLY  is Lifestyles Editor and may be reached at lifestyles@desototimes.com

(0) comments

Welcome to the discussion.

Keep it Clean. Please avoid obscene, vulgar, lewd, racist or sexually-oriented language.
PLEASE TURN OFF YOUR CAPS LOCK.
Don't Threaten. Threats of harming another person will not be tolerated.
Be Truthful. Don't knowingly lie about anyone or anything.
Be Nice. No racism, sexism or any sort of -ism that is degrading to another person.
Be Proactive. Use the 'Report' link on each comment to let us know of abusive posts.
Share with Us. We'd love to hear eyewitness accounts, the history behind an article.